The devil inside

I have a little confession to make:  Up until last month, I rarely felt all that bad for parents who complained about their kids hitting the terrible twos.

No, not because three is worse (though it is, until they become teenagers.  Or so I’m told).

You see, my older son is a screamer.  He shouted from dawn ’til dusk about any and everything for much of the first months of his life.  He threw tantrums like nobody’s business WAY before age 2, so by the time he got to the dreaded 2 1/2, we were more or less used to it.

Sebastian is perfectly lovely in many ways, but he is an emotional child, and when he is upset, everyone knows it.  I may have mentioned before that I used to think that other children had been muted when they would cry, because they in no way rivaled my son’s three-alarm-fire-engine-siren when he was mad.

So when friends would complain about their children throwing tantrums – “Like two or three every day!” it took all I could do not to say, “Oh, POOR YOU.”  I wanted to keep my friends, after all.  And I did understand that tantrums and headstrong children are difficult, so I mustered up as much sympathy as I could until I could change the subject.

Now, however, Theo is two.

Don’t be fooled by the adorable face. A two-year-old demon lies within.

My little ray of sunshine has, seemingly overnight, become a thundercloud that rips through our house once every hour or so.  I must admit that it is harder on me than this time was two years ago.

Not that I was out of practice, of course, because Sebastian stills throws the best tantrums of them all.  {He is currently adding shrieking at the top of his lungs to his repertoire.  The kid could go pro if anyone were inclined to pay for his performance.  Anyone?  Anyone at all?}

I think it’s just massively unsettling to have a child who is more or less easygoing suddenly turn into a whirling dervish of opinion and “ME DO IT” and fall-on-the-floor sobs.  It’s like someone has robbed you of your child and put a little demon in his adorable clothes.

But then, just like that, the angel is back.  The one who randomly says, “I LOVE you, Mama!” and gives me a huge smooch when I’m not looking.

I’m no longer fooled, though.  I’ve learned that the devil inside will be back soon.

So I hug him back and kiss his pudgy cheeks and cross my fingers that maybe…just maybe?… this time three won’t be worse.